#let Eddie be Kas

[morganbritton132]

The way I feel about stranger things season four completely hinges on Eddie being in season five.

Because if he is, season four was great. If he’s not than they killed off a good character in the dumbest way possible - making him a martyr for nobody because he saved no one - for no reason.

I can accept that he died. I don’t love character deaths but I like a good story so I don’t have a problem with characters being killed off if it serves a greater narrative purpose.

For example, I didn’t love that Billy got killed off. I thought there was a compelling story you could tell about a character unlearning the racism they were taught and having to make amends for their actions. They didn’t go in that direction and we got Max’s storyline which was amazing so it’s fine.

If Eddie died and the only reason is so Dustin is angsty next season than what was the point?

[apomaro-mellow]

Brought to you by this post.

Eddie had run through every sort of scenario that could happen with his return. He had especially thought about how Steve would react. The top contenders were fear, disgust, and violence. He was a monster now after all. It wasn't immediately apparent, the only physical changes to his appearance being the fangs in his mouth and how his pale skin turned into a pitch black on his hands, ending with dark claws on each finger.

But on this inside, he was so much more. He was faster and stronger. He thought of consuming flesh and blood and knew there were few forces in the world that could stop him from it. When he awakened, Vecna filled his mind with thoughts of rage and revenge. The town had been the ones to kill him in the end. Had they not treated him like a criminal, he wouldn't have run away, wouldn't have ended up in the Upside Down, wouldn't have tried to prove he wasn't a runner and stood his ground the way he did.

Hawkins had experienced loss, yes, but not nearly enough. When he clawed his way back topside, he was ready to bathe in the blood of his enemies. An army of demobats always flurried around to obey his bidding. And they did so with a bloodthirst that matched their master. Vecna had revealed exactly why he chose each of his victims. Told him the secrets they all held. So Eddie's first stop had been the Cunningham household.

He didn't threaten, didn't spook. Just let his little pets crash through every window and feed on the people who made Chrissy's life hell.

The next night, he did the same to Patrick's household, and that was Steve's first gander at his new look.

---------------------

After the death of the Cunningham's, Nancy quickly figured out that they should stake out the homes of Vecna's other victims. El, Lucas, and Will stayed with Max in the hospital. Nancy, Robin, and Jonathan kept an eye on Fred's place. And that was how Steve ended up watching Patrick's home with Dustin and Mike. They had been too late to save the parents, but just in time to see Eddie standing over their dead bodies, eyes wild and hands bloodied.

Blood also dripped from his mouth menacingly and he only allowed them the briefest of moments before he was off and away, disappearing into the shadows of the night with the sounds of flapping wings.

When they met back up with everyone that night at Hopper's cabin, the exchange of info had been wild. Steve had mainly kept quiet, thoughts buzzing in his brain while the more take charge members of their party tried to figure out if that had really been Eddie, what he was doing, if Vecna was controlling him, and why he was going after these specific people.

"If that had really been Eddie, there's gotta be a way to get him back to the good side. Make him see the light", Dustin said.

"But what if we can't make him see?", Robin pointed out. "He's already killed. Twice. Technically more than that if we go by actual body count."

"And if we don't stop him, he's going to attack again tomorrow", Nancy said. "We just can't entertain what-ifs right now. The facts we have are he's done this two nights in a row. Which means tomorrow he'll either be going for Fred's family or Ms. Mayfield."

"Nancy you didn't know Eddie like we did!", Mike shouted. "You already left him behind once, we can't give up without trying to bring him back!"

That stung Steve. Not being able to bring the body back had been a terrible regret. And now they were paying for it.

"How are you gonna bring him back?", Jonathan asked.

"By appealing to his humanity, duh", Dustin said. "If Eddie's still in there, he'll recognize us."

Unable to keep his thoughts quiet anymore, Steve finally stepped in. "I saw what he did Dustin. I'm not letting any of you kids anywhere near him right now. But!", he cut off the younger ones before they could protest, "You might be onto something. If we can convince him to come back to us, he could be saved."

Robin gave him an odd look. "I'm really afraid of what you're about to say next."

"Look, I can't-I know it's sounds crazy, but I might be able to bring Eddie back."

Steve was met with a chorus of 'whats' ranging from Lucas' genuinely confused one to Mike's absolutely offended one.

"You think you know Eddie better than us? We were actually friends with him", Mike said.

"I know he and I weren't that close. But during the whole, save the world part we had some...moments." Steve looked to Robin and then to Nancy, hoping they understood. And unfortunately they did.

Robin shook her head. "This has gotta be the stupidest idea you've ever had."

"And you're crazy if you think we're letting you do it", Nancy added.

"Good thing I'm not asking permission", Steve said.

------------------------

And thus began Steve's solo mission: Seduce Undead Eddie. He got very little support in his plan, but it wasn't like he needed any. He just had to make sure he got to Eddie first and kept the attention on him and not on whoever the target might be.

The others were staking out the possible victims. Hopper and Joyce were even taking Ms. Mayfield out to dinner, in the hopes a public place would keep her off limits for Eddie as long as possible. Meanwhile, Steve had his own hunch that he was following. Based on what they knew, Fred had felt guilty about a car accident, but there wasn't concrete evidence of anyone calling him out on what happened. And Max felt guilty about Billy, someone who was already gone.

Steve's hunch brought him to the Carver household. He still had just enough of his golden boy status to win Jason's parents over and let him into their home, still mourning the loss of their son. Steve didn't need to wait long.

He heard the screeching of bats and then a few of them broke through a window. Steve grabbed the frat paddle he had spied when he entered and smacked them away from Mr. and Mrs. Carver. Seeing as everything was a hivemind, he knew Eddie must have felt before he saw.

"Steve Harrington, as I live and breath", Eddie drawled as he entered the house through the door he had broken through.

Steve had little time to prepare for tonight but he thinks he pulled off the perfect one-two punch with his outfit. His brightest, tightest jeans along with a black shirt that had the sleeves ripped off. Steve leaned against the wall and even let his hips cock out a bit.

"Come here often, Munson?"

In the darkness, he was sure he saw something familiar spark in Eddie's eyes. It was the same light he saw when he'd called Steve metal, or when he flirted while stealing that rv, and that had definitely been flirting.

"Steve", Eddie called out in a weak voice, a cry for help before his features hardened as well as his voice. "You can't save him."

Eddie disappeared but Steve was not deterred because he was right. Eddie was still in there and he could reach in to him.

---------------------

Steve pulled out all the stops then. The next time they met, Steve was laid out on the lunch table in the dark cafeteria like he was waiting for Eddie to come home after a long day of work. When they came face to face at the picnic area by the school, he sat right on the table, legs spread out enticingly.

When Eddie tried fighting him for the first time, Steve had him pinned to a tree and made sure their bodies were pressed out as close as could possibly be.

Sometimes Steve doubted himself. But he knew he had Eddie whenever he saw that light in his eyes. So he didn't shy away from any part of him, even the newer additions. Whenever he could, he touched Eddie. Wrapped a curly lock around his finger as an excuse to say close. Even kissed those blackened and bloodied hands of his.

When he did that, Steve got a thrill. He didn't forget what Eddie was capable of. If he truly wanted, Eddie could rip him to shreds whenever he wanted. But he let Steve get close. Let him get soft with him.

Victory was his when Eddie finally expelled Vecna from his mind completely. And now they didn't just have a friend returned from the dead. They had an ally with a backdoor to their enemy.

Of course Steve felt absolutely vindicated that his plan had actually worked. But he only felt true triumph when he got to watch Eddie help take Vecna down, rip him to literal shreds actually. And then for him to turn those hands, covered in blood and viscera and gently hold him as they kissed for all the world to see.

So yeah, the Harrington charm still had some juice in it.

[ryan-waddell11]

he was so happy playing D&D. LET HIM BE HAPPY AGAIN DAMMIT.

[ghosttotheparty]

kas!eddie moves in w steve after coming back as he adjusts to Everything, and there’s this tension that surrounds them every time they’re alone but neither of them address it

until steves anxious habit of picking the skin off his lips causes his bottom lip to bleed and eddie points it out and then can’t hold back from leaning in and tasting it

[withacapitalp]

tagged by: @unclewaynemunson and @thefreakandthehair

Thanks guys!!! I love getting tagged in these things

rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote and tag as many people as there are words.

“You never scared me,” Wayne managed to whisper, feeling the lump in his throat grow to the size of a boulder as he looked Eddie straight in the eyes.

Twenty nine........Jesus h Christ Liam get your shit together okay I'm actually going to attempt to do this and not cheat

@stevethehairington @steveshairychest @riality-check @flowercrowngods @henderdads @strawberryspence @stevesbipanic @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe @yournowheregirl @legitcookie @unclewaynemunson @thefreakandthehair @undreaming-fanfiction @sidekick-hero @thelastwalkingsoul @steddiealltheway @maxinemaxmayfield @maxineholtzmann @hexiewrites @laundrybiscuits @wynnyfryd @starrystevie @stargyles @sharpbutsoft @steddierthings @strangersteddierthings @matchingbatbites @blushweddinggowns @corrodedbisexual

[bankholdup]

a while ago, i posted this about a steddie iwtv scene and inspiration struck so have this little thing. i did not proofread so excuse any mistakes lol

A crack of thunder filled the air, with marred, red lightning filling the sky.

Steve is running, running like he never has before. Forcing his legs left, right, left, right, left, right, faster, faster, move. As he looks back, he sees Eddie, or rather what was once Eddie, closing in, flying 10 feet above the ground with grotesque flesh wings protruding from his scarred back.

While he was glancing back, he lost his footing, tripping and rolling over the wet ground. Eddie, or Kas as he was now known, took this opportunity to land right in front of Steve.

Steve scrambled back as Eddie landed and crouched down to stare him in the eyes, cocking his head to the side curiously. Steve took stock of Eddie’s appearance then. He was wearing what they had on when they had traversed to the Upside Down last year. Bandana still atop his head, holding his longer, greasy, wet locks in place. His clothing was tattered, stained with dirt and blood, and his face- all the skin exposed, was simply scarred. His eyes were black, pitch black, boring a hole into Steve’s soul.

This is what had become of their friend.

If only they had known, known the fate they were forcing Eddie to succumb to. They should have known, he should have known, that nothing down here can stay dead.

Not Vecna. Not Eddie Munson.

All Steve could do was try to catch his gasping breath while Eddie scanned over him too.

Did Eddie recognize him? Did Eddie remember?

“I didn’t forget, Harrington. I’m not the Devil.” Eddie said, as if he could hear all of Steve’s inner thoughts. Maybe he can now.

Steve wanted to cry, he already mourned him, but all he could choke out was a meek “I’m sorry” as his voiced crack.

“I’d say it’s okay, Harrington,” Eddie started with a wolfish grin, showing Steve his teeth and fangs, “but it’s not. Maybe you can make it better.”

“How-- what?”

“Join me. I can take away that fear, all that sorrow I know you feel deep within,”

Eddie moved slowly, crawling closer to Steve on his hands and knees. Steve didn’t move or dare to speak. He felt his eyes widen at Eddie’s words, as he pressed closer to him, and let him continue.

“I remember when I first saw your pretty face. I can give you that love that you dream of, that you think about constantly. I will take away your pain, joyfully. I can swap this life of fear and pain and sorrow, all you have to do is nod that pretty head yes.”

Perhaps it was possession, for some reason Steve considered this insidious offer. He still had yet to speak; he didn’t know what he wanted to say.

“Be my companion, Steve,” Eddie said softly, almost a whisper, “be and experience all the beautiful things you are for all eternity with me.”

Steve nodded his head. All Eddie did was smile, before he extended his hand to help Steve up.

[secretdryrose]

Is anyone else getting stressed out by the Stranger Things writers tweets? First, the “April Fools tweet” saying Chapter 2 is named Kas: The Bloody-handed, now they post two pics of Eddie’s outfits with the second one captioned as “feelin’ it”.

STOP PLAYING WITH MY HEART, IT CANT TAKE ANYMORE GAMES (please let Eddie be alive, PLEASE)

[buttered-milky]

Y’all r forgetting the most important feature of winged humanoids: wings r connected to pecs. Meaning double tits

[littlexdeaths]

this is what i get for listening to music y’all

[ryan-waddell11]

I miss him (and the fact that he is always a mood)

[loserboysandlithium]

Blurbs

Harder

Drunk dial

Best friends

And then head?

Nasty

Let it all go

Give me a show

One more

Good boy

Movie night

Pathetic

Porn

Kas Eddie

A mess

Tease

Obsessed

Teasing Eddie

Playgirl

Messy

You’re such a nerd

One shots

The Pact

The switch

4/20

Just Friends

No one fucks me like you

Mark Me

High on you

Good Girl

I can show you

Sexual healing

Thots and drabbles

Eddie is a munch

Pussy drunk

Cum on my lips, baby

Mine

Morning head

I want a bite 😩

Dorky Eddie

Eddie fluff

Desperate

3 am

Giving Eddie head for the first time

Eddie’s Diary

Home page

Intro

There’s a first for everything

A taste

Ex Boyfriend Eddie

I hate you, I love you

Steddie x Reader

Cashmere and Cigarettes

Eddie x Reader x Billy

Fantasy: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

Blurbs

Dreams

Animal

One shots

Memory lane

One shots

Summertime

Daddy

[whathehonestfuk]

Vecna captures steve and is torturing him/ giving him a slow death because steve and the rest of the party have been a thorn in his side

after 4 different rounds of this shit steve prides himself on his ability to take pain so he takes it as quietly as he can even bitching and taunting when he can trying to buy time or his own sanity til he can get out or someone comes to rescue him

but in the end steve is only human so he ends up screaming

Kas! Eddie hearing it and having that sound burn any and all of vecnas mind control away letting him scoop a badly injured steve and get them both the fuck out of there

[milf-harrington]

i read a fic yesterday (return of the king) where Steve swapped with Eddie at the last second at the end of s4 and ended up being the one who died and had to be left behind and then he came back as a vampire and it just got my brain TICKING.

So role-reversal AU where steve is the one who comes back basically kas-ified as is the common trope with eddie, but where eddie goes to steve, steve goes to robin.

lets say, for funsies, that they managed to kill vecna and max only ended up hospitalised for a broken elbow and a twisted ankle (from falling on it), so everyone has the time and space to grieve.

Steve’s death hits Robin the hardest because he was her person. He was her i-wish-we-could-just-merge-into-one-being. Her ride or die. Her soulmate. And he’d been taken from her, torn apart and left to rot in the very world he’d tried so hard to protect her from. 

The others give her space to let her mourn quietly in her bedroom, dressed in steve’s clothes and listening to his music like if she just tried hard enough she could still merge them together and let him use her lungs to breathe, her heart to pump his blood, her head to share his thoughts. that she could single handedly go from a me to a we.

And then, one day, Robin starts acting weird. She doesn’t know the Wheeler’s phone number and on her way to find it in the phone book, she found the Munson’s first, and when Eddie picks up it’s too a very chipper Robin asking for a lift to the shops where she proceeds to buy an alarming amount of red meat and refuses to answer any questions.

And she’s just- happy. She’s weird and happy and keeps calling Eddie to ask him about Dungeons and Dragons lore and if he can take her to the library or to the butcher and if he can let her borrow his jumper please? I get cold easily. And then she just keeps stealing clothes, from everyone. Sometimes she asks, sometimes she’ll just take a jacket off of the back of a chair and act like nothing happened, sometimes she just sneaks off to go rooting through washing baskets.

Then comes the day she invites Eddie over, probably a week or so after her initial journey into Weird-Ville, nervously rambling about nothing right up until she closes the front door behind them and runs into Eddie’s back because Eddie’s just spotted Steve-fucking-Harrington peering at him from around the corner. 

Apparently, a not-exactly-dead-anymore Steve crawled through Robin’s window one night and has since taken up residence underneath her bed. 

“He was kinda- not all there, at first.” She tells him, chopping a steak into cubes and dropping them into a blender. Steve, winged and fanged and tailed, leans against the counter and watches her with sleepy eyes. “But we’ve been working on it.”

After the initial pants-shitting shock of having her dead best friend re-appear as a creature of the upside down, Robin had simply accepted it and moved on. Happy to have Steve back no matter what it looked like. 

And what it looked like was blending raw meat, and reading together in the bathroom to bring back his ability to talk, and stealing clothes for the veritable nest Steve was building in her closet. The next step in her plan to re-domesticate her best friend, had been to introduce him to another person: Eddie, evidently. 

Steve promptly spends 5 minutes being a feral little creature, scenting Eddie within an inch of his life like he’d done to Robin, and then attempting to plant him in his nest like a little ornament. 

Just. idk. feral kas!steve seeking out robin for safety, who slowly re-introduces him to his humanity and then his future boyfriend.

[lexirosewrites]

Slick Sunday thought. I’ve seen fics where soulmates have legal protections, like, you can’t vanish someone to a black site if they have a mate because it would cause separation sickness and could kill them.

So what about the omegaverse version with a little bit of a Kas for flavor?

A!Eddie gets saved by Vecna and remade as Kas. During the final fight, Eddie breaks through enough that he survives as himself, but with a few of Kas’s traits. Mostly the healing and strength and a little of the claws.

Government shows up, and it’s obvious that they want to take Eddie to a lab, and since the guy was dead, and the paperwork hasn’t been updated, they could pull it off. Because of the upside down leftovers, El has a really hard time tracking Eddie unless she’s within a few hundred yards of him. If he gets taken, they’ll lose him entirely. Part of the governments argument is valid: Kas did kill folks, and was in the hive mind, and is potentially incredibly dangerous still

Dustin is the one who comes up with the idea to bond Eddie to someone. The party isn’t quite to the level of hiding behind a barricade protecting Eddie yet, but they all understand that’s where they’re heading.

It has to be an omega, and it has to be right now.

Will is a recently presented omega, but: as Eddie puts it “absolutely not, that is a child”

Joyce is an omega, but she bonded to Hop not long after rescuing him from Russia.

Robin is an omega, but still a lesbian. She’s the party’s first thought. Lesbian or not, she’s the only omega they’ve got. Except. She looks to Steve, nauseous and scared, and she isn’t asking him, she would never ask him to, but like hell is Steve letting her get caught in that.

“Let me get my shirt off first, Munson”

“Steve, this is serious, stop joking, two alphas can’t form a bond.”

“I know. Not joking. I’m an omega. Surprise.”

The group freaks out. Naturally.

And it works, in the sense that the bond takes, and the feds won’t separate them. Not a perfect plan though.

The feds take them both.

omfg😭

[croquis-el]

Self-addressing of minor male characters in Ace Attorney (Gyakuten Saiban) / Personal pronouns

We've talked about the main male and female characters, but we shouldn't forget about the minor male characters who accompany us throughout at least each part of the Ace Attorney (GKS) series

The first man who accompanies us throughout the first trilogy is Itonokogiri Keisuke (Richard/Dick Gumshoe)

And here's an interesting point. His pronoun is "jibun" (自分)

自分は、刑事課の イトノコギリという者ッス。

Jibun wa, keiji ka no Itonokogiri to iu mono ~tssu.

I'm from the Criminal Affairs Division. My name is Itonokogiri.

This is a rather rarely used pronoun; it literally translates as "self", although it has the meaning "I/me".

Jibun is used by about only 14% of men and 1% of women. This fact makes the pronoun gender-neutral, but predominantly masculine.

Compared to other first-person pronouns, the nuance of 自分 is introspective, and it's often associated with the military or athletic community, which have strong hierarchies. This suits Itonoko's personality very well, considering that he is a subordinate of the prosecutor and rarely thinks for himself.

Also, "jibun" can be an indicator of the Kansai dialect (Osaka), where it is used to denote both the first and second person. But, since Itonoko's speech was not noted to have any dialect (there are other features), and he was born and raised in the same city (and the city is from the Kanto region), this option is out of the question.

Interestingly, even after Itonoko realized that detectives should do their own investigations rather than rely on directions from prosecutors, and began making decisions on his own, his self-address did not change. Probably a matter of habit.

自分は、何をしたらいいッスか････

Jibun wa, nani o shitara Ī ~tsuu ka...

What should I do...

___________________________________________

Next is our dear friend's father, Mitsurugi Shin (Gregory Edgeworth)

His speech is very formal (like his son's), and he uses the formal personal pronoun "watashi" written in kanji.

私は弁護士の御剣信と申します。

Watashi wa bengoshi no Mitsurugi Shin to mōshi masu.

My name is Shin Mitsurugi, a lawyer.

___________________________________________

Let's not forget about Mitsurugi assistant - Shigaraki Tateyuki (Eddie Fender, almost wrote Raymond Shields)

Most of his dialogues take place with Mitsurugi and young Yatagarasu, and he stubbornly continues to call himself "uncle". (オジサン - ojisan)

オジサン、アトでここの館長に 文句言っとくから。寒すぎだって。

Ojisan, ato de koko no kanchō ni monku I~tsu toku kara. Samu sugi datte .

Uncle going to complain to the director of this place later. It's too cold.

It was not easy to catch his personal self-addressing with other people, but not impossible.

In dialogues with others, Shigaraki-san uses the polite male pronoun "boku" (like Naruhodō/Wright)

ぼく、その････! がんばって助けますからッ!

Boku, sono! Ganbatte tasuke masu kara ~Tsu !

I, well...! I'll do my best to help you!

___________________________________________

Let's not forget about our permanent presiding judge (here is someone who, with rare exceptions, is always with us)

ええ!わ、私がですか?

ē! Wa, watashi gadesu ka?

What? Me?

___________________________________________

The new generation is first represented by rock star and hard-working prosecutor - Garyu Kyoya (Klavier Gavin)

Despite his prominent image as a musician and rock star, Kyouya uses the polite masculine pronoun "boku" (the same one used by Naruhodō/Wright).

ぼくも楽しみにしているんだ。

boku mo tanoshimini shite iru nda.

I'm looking forward to it too.

His speech is generally polite, and in the original he uses various English phrases in his speech, written either in Latin or Katakana. These phrases, by the way, are often used at concerts of musical groups whose first language is not English. (In the localization, as you know, German was used as a substitute).

オーケイ、ベイビー!

ōkei, beibī!

Okay, baby!

___________________________________________

Mr. Garyu Kirihito (Kristoph Gavin) uses the personal pronoun "watashi", which is written in kanji, indicating formal speech and an adult character.

___________________________________________

The second prosecutor from the new generation is a master of psychological manipulation, Yugami Jin (Simon Blackquill)

To be honest, his image as a samurai somewhat clouded my eyes, and I expected some self-addresses inherent in this category (for example, "yo")

But no, Yugami-kun uses the crude male pronoun "ore" (like Odoroki/Apollo)

それと、俺は検事ってェ立場上、 おめえさんに手は貸さねェからな。

soreto, ore wa kenji tte ~e tachiba-jō, o-me e-san ni te wa kasa nēkara na.

Also, because I'm a prosecutor, I won't help you.

We don't know when he started using this designation (there are no monologues from him before his arrest), but judging by his characterization from other characters, he behaved very noble and politely, so perhaps he could change the personal pronoun to a more rude one to maintain the image of a "cruel criminal".

His manner of speech is, in principle, extremely interesting, and, I think, worthy of a separate post. In short - he speaks in a dialect + uses obsolete words + he has a special way of addressing other characters

___________________________________________

The third prosecutor from the new generation, who is also a monk from the kingdom of Khurain - Sahdmadhi Nahyuta (his name was not localized, thank you)

But this young man has an extremely interesting way of addressing himself.

"Sesso" (拙僧) literally means "inept monk".

This is a VERY modest form of address that was used by Buddhist monks.

拙僧がこの事件の担当に ふさわしくないと････?

sessō ga kono jiken no tantō ni fusawashikunai to?

Are you saying I'm not fit to take charge of this case...?

But, this is very different from his speech. Canonically, he is a foreigner, so he does not know all the features of the language in which the hearings are held. Therefore, Nahyuta uses, either unknowingly or intentionally, quite rude vocabulary and manner of speech (at the first hearing with him as a prosecutor, the judge, Odoroki and Kizuki were shocked). Even a native speaker, whose walkthrough I watched, was surprised and commented on this moment.

___________________________________________

Well, that's probably it for now on the topic of personal pronouns, but if you're interested in someone specific that I haven't mentioned, give me a sign.

[carolmunson]

you get me closer to god | kas!eddie (dark)

entry for my fall frenzy requests. this request comes in from @edsforehead: 'something with kas!eddie in a graveyard.'

a/n: y'all, i don't know. i kind of snapped with this one. sort of canon compliant. inspired by a post that i saw that said that after vampires feed they have an insatiable desire to breed afterwards. steve also makes an appearance cause i love him.

tw: 18+ MDNI, dub-con, dub-con, dub-con (reader does get into it). use of hypnosis, coercion. blood play, blood drinking, biting. very obvious power dynamics at play here. death of minor character mentioned. p in v smut, rough and sensual. oral (f-recieving), monster-type-fucking. mild chasing trope. some religious elements if you squint??? anyway i listened to closer by nine inch nails on a loop for this if you wanna know the general vibe. let me know if there is anything i missed and need to put on here!

October 31st, 1998

Your niece had a better haul than you ever did at this age, it seemed like every house on the fancy side of Hawkins was giving out full size candy bars. No one ever gave you full size candy bars. The Harrington's had outdone themselves this year, hoards of kids picking out wrapped caramel apples and passing out spiked cider to the parents. Humming and smiling while the adults hugged their parkas to their chests, kids running up and down the stairs of the cul de sac of Hawkins Mansions. Decorated to the nines -- you were happy that most of the street would tire her and all of her friends out. "Auntie!" she calls out, hurrying over to you while her pink and purple puffer coat swishes with her. Alycia glitters against the lights of the houses in the dark of the night, the red sequins on her leotard making her easy to find. Your sister-in-law made her a headband fitted with red horns with a pointed tail sewn into the back of the red tu-tu from her Spring recital to match. A Dancing Devil she called it -- for newly six, she was a pretty creative little bug.

"Auntie look," she yells, running into your legs. The spiked cider sloshes in your cup that you hold high over her head so it doesn't spill onto her. She holds up a decorated caramel apple covered in eyeballs made out of sugar.

"Gross, Leesh," you giggle, "It's got eyeballs all over it!"

"They're fake eyeballs, Auntie," she explains like you're stupid, "They're not real eyeballs."

"Oh, thank you for telling me. I didn't know," you giggle, catching Steve watching the two of you chat. Your cheeks burn, that crush from when you were fourteen and he spent the summer working at the mall never fully fading. He's married with four kids now so you should probably get over it. "How're things?" he asks from the curb, coming over to sneak Alycia a couple of Reese's cups. "They're good," you shake your head with a shrug, "They're fine. Out here with the rugrat while her mom's at work." "How's the family, your mom?" he presses, arms crossing over his broad chest that stretch the sleeves of his tan workwear jacket.

"She's doin' okay," you smile tightly, "Always a little hard for her this time of year."

"Five years now, isn't it?"

"To the day," you say with a lilt, "Gonna go visit him after I drop her with her grandparents. My dad'll be so thrilled to steal half her stash."

Your laugh is a little hollow when he squeezes your shoulder comfortingly, he slips a candy bar into your hand, too before saying his goodbyes -- set of twins running around his ankles.

Hawkin's bravest fireman somehow off duty on a night like this turns before you take your niece's hand to leave, "Be careful out there at night. You know it's not always safe."

"You don't believe in all those rumors, do you Harrington?" you laugh.

"Don't have to believe them or not," he says seriously, pushing his wire rims up his nose, "I know they're not rumors."

"Happy Halloween, Steve," you say dully, "Goodnight." You both wave, Alycia's little hand in yours while she rattles off a million words a minute about the skeloton outside of the Sinclair house. The moon glows down over the street, dark clouds slicing it like a broken plate.

You rarely visit your brother on the day of, especially since there's always idiot teenagers running around the place. Not exactly easy to mourn when some loser in a Scream mask keeps trying to scare you.

It was quiet, your Docs crunching on mid-fall frosty grass -- some of it already half dead with the season. Commotion from the town in the distance had dulled into mostly nothing now that the kids had turned in for the night. Families turning their porch lights out, settling in for scary movies and sugar highs.

You squeeze the bouquet of baby's breath and eucalyptus a little hard in your hands when you walk through the tombstones. The low lamps along the walk way casting the grass and asphalt in a looming orangey glow -- not offering much light beyond their posts. The moon does the work, still looking shattered amongst the thin gray clouds sliding through the sky.

You hear some giggling, the rustle of leaves, the snap of twigs. Always an outlier of kids doing spells or a Ouija board out here this time of year -- old Chief Hopper coming down to make them scatter and take their weed. You walk off the path when you get a decent way in, crossing away from where the cemetary mostly turns to forest. Four 'Happy Birthday To Yous' into the brush and then a left, two head stones, then a right -- it's the third headstone on the fourth row. No light to shine down on you this time, just whatever's left in the sky. You take your big yellow scarf off from around your neck to lay over the grave, giving yourself a place to sit so your spandex covered thighs didn't have to touch the grass. Your mom would kill you if you got grass stains on the red trench she let you borrow -- a makeshift Carmen Sandiego costume if anyone asked.

You sit, laying the bouquet right at the granite edge, tracing his name before letting your hand drop. You don't say anything for a while, letting the cool wet air run over you in waves. You wonder if the wind blowing is him saying hey.

A few cemetery patrons come by, pay their respects to their loved ones and leave. Some superstitious, some religious. They fade out after a while. The loneliness is comforting, just you and your brother hanging out together like before. Despite being six years apart, it felt like you both always had some weird wonder twin telepathy. He was never really one for a lot of words.

"Didn't that guy tell you not to come around here so late?"

You jump at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, turning around to see an even more unfamiliar person. Wild curly waves messy around his face, cut in 80s shag perfection. His face chiseled, jawline pronounced with soft stubble, soaked in fake blood. It trails down his neck and stains the white of the baseball tee underneath a leather jacket; fitted over top with a battle vest that rivaled the metal heads of the 70s.

"Who're you, huh? You following me?" you ask. You swallow nervously, finding solace in seeing a few other cemetary visitors mosying around. The faint giggle of more mischeif causing teenagers in the distance.

"Sorry," he laughs, a warm laugh that meets his eyes, "Didn't mean to scare you. I um, I saw you over by the cul de sac, overheard him say somethin' to you. I was with my little cousin -- dressed like a mermaid, I don't know if you remember."

You think back to Leesh's pal of trick-or-treaters, scanning them in your head to recall a little girl with big brown eyes and a makeshit Ariel costume on under her jean jacket -- covered in patches much like his.

"Yeah," you smile, "I remember. But that didn't answer my question -- are you following me?"

"Nah," he grins, shaking his head, "I'm visiting someone -- this was just a happy accident."

"Oh," you respond quietly, "Who're you visiting if you don't mind me asking."

"My mom," he shrugs, scrunching his nose, "Halloween was her favorite holiday so I always try to come say hi."

"Oh, I'm sorry," you offer in condolences, "Did you um -- did you grow up here? I feel like I'd remember you."

"Nope," he sighs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans while his wallet chain jingles next to his thigh, "Grew up with my uncle."

"Oh, nice," you nod, "Well um --"

"Who're you visiting?" he interrupts, sitting on the gravestone next to your brother's; hardware tinkling prettily as he does.

"Pete," you say, hand out to gesture towards the shiny granite in front of you, "My brother."

"Nice to meet you, Pete," he turns his head, curly hair flouncing over his shoulder, "Pleasure."

You laugh, he laughs with you -- you have to laugh about it or else you'd have to deal with the alternative. You're pretty sure you're all cried out about your brother now.

"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"He worked construction," you shrug, "Took an overnight shift five years ago by the quarry, an' it was Halloween so he was workin' by himself -- no one to spot his safety gear. Must've fallen off the rigs or something and since it rained a lot that year the quarry was basically a lake at that point, hit his head and drowned. His body was completely banged up and waterlogged, they could only ID him from his pass in his pocket."

"Shit," he nods, "That's -- that's fuckin' awful. I'm sorry."

You shrug, "Bitch of living, I guess."

"Hm," he nods, "I wouldn't know."

"What do you mean?" you ask with a cocked head, eyes lingering on him while his linger on you. "Don't worry about it," he smirks, the kind that makes your heart flutter; cheeks getting hot at the sound of his voice. "You know something," you start, "With this whole get up -- and you're not from here so you might not know -- you look just like --"

"Eddie Munson?" he asks, with raised brows, "Yeah, my aunt's been telling me that forever. That's why I sorta dressed up like him for Halloween."

"That's dangerous around Hawkins, especially this time of year," you warn him, standing up from your spot and picking up your scarf. You shake it out to get some of the grass of the underside. You hardly notice the way his eyes trail from your shoes over your calves to your thighs.

"Some people say that he went right to hell after that earthquake since he killed that girl," you explain, shrugging the trench off some to fit the scarf on under it, "And now he's a demon that haunts Hawkins and terrorizes the town."

You both laugh, though his drops to a low and guttural hum. Nearly a growl. You lift your head to see him just a foot in front of you now, and you can really look. You can really see him. The paleness in his skin, tendrilled navy veins raising through it as he leans close to you.

At this distance it's clear that the hollowness in his eyes isn't makeup, but the sparkling brown is sunken into his skull. His brows darkened and determined while he looks at you.

At this distance, it's clear that the blood on his jaw is real.

"They're close," he says with a sly smile, "Really should've listened to Harrington, sweetheart."

You swallow hard, icy sweat in a film on your body while he takes a step forward.

"Those rumors are true."

The icy air shreds your throat as you run, heaving it in and out in gasps. Your calves scream, thighs aching while you sprint through the brush of the forest; trench and scarf long forgotton somehwere amongst the trees. You try to ignore the way twigs and branches swipe at your face, slicing you and scratching you with unforgiving whips. You let out a cry while you speed, leaping over roots and piles of leaves all while trying to listen with peak percision. Is he close? Is he getting closer? Can he see you?

You stop behind a log near a dip in the earth, rocks above it. Climbing in you heave, trying to catch your breath -- you aren't really made for this. You don't know how girls in the movies can run that long without needing a break.

With a deep inhale in, you hold, using the quiet to try and hear him but there is nothing to be heard. No rustling, no creaks in the wood or in the wind.

You catch your breath, slowly creeping out of your hiding space while the darkness hones -- trees blocking out some of the moonlight. You take a step and then another, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Your efforts are of no use though -- you stomach turns at the sound. The flap of wings, leathery wings -- big. A shaky breath in gives you the courage to turn your eyes up. On one of the taller branches above you he sits, pale and domineering, "Hi, sweetheart."

You bolt again, depserate and sobbing while the cold air is no longer a hello from your brother but mother nature's cruel bite on your wet cheeks. You can barely take in breaths without pain in your throat and chest, turning left and right and left again to lose him but from above he can predict your every move.

When you hear silence again you take another turn, a mausoleum broken down a short distance away. You crawl your way in, wet earth and cement hitting your nose while you gasp and heave for the second time. You listen for the wings for moment, a few moments -- a calm washing over your back when you're sure he's gone.

You take a step back further into the darkness to be sure you're unseen. Deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. One, twice, three times.

Another step back and you bump into a pillar making you jump, a screech wrenching from you.

Not a pillar no, not by the way a set of claw bites into your shoulder.

"Would've been a good hiding spot if it wasn't for me finding it first, right?" he quips, "Bummer." "Y-you can't d-do this," you cry, "The r-rumors are true they'll -- they'll look for me! Steve knows about you!"

"Oh, babe, that's so cute," he muses with a giggle, "Why do you think I'm still here, huh? Steve's just like me, he's bitten too."

"B-but--"

"Why do you think he believes in all those rumors, huh baby?" he asks with a lilt, "Cause he's one of 'em. Well -- not all the way, I guess. Not like me."

"He blows my cover he blows his whole operation," he grins, sharp teeth bearing themselves at you, "Why d'you think he only works night shifts?"

"I -- don't -- I don't," you sputter, "Pl-please d-don't bite me, d-don't eat me I -- I'll do whatever."

"You're too funny," he says in your ear, deep and grizzly while you're rooted to the spot under his clutch, "I already ate, sweet girl. But you'll make a fine dessert."

You don't know how you get there but it's not like home -- it is but it isn't -- dark and deadly; covered in slithering vines. You're too petrified to ask; but whatever this place was, despite the spores in the air and the rubble from the walls -- it was much nicer than the trailer he grew up in.

"Shh, shh, shh," he coos, claws deep in your shoulder while he wrenches you to a bed covered in plush linens -- satin and full. In the blur around you it could almost be a movie set; the booms of red lightening, dripping pillar candles in heaps around the room.

You whimper at first when his claws release, hot blood oozing against your sweater. The pain pulses like a dull thud, spit flooding your mouth while you move to your side to wretch but he catches you by the root of your hair. You wail in fear, smelling the decay in his breath, the sweet subtle rot of your surroundings.

"It's not polite to cause a scene in a stranger's home, right princess?" he asks with a soft lilt. He holds your gaze, warmth spreading over you when he smirks again -- and despite your fear, you can't look away. You aren't even sure if you want to look away.

Your body goes slack on the comforter, melting into itself like a dropped marionnette. "Very good," he purrs. Hazy, you feel his hands on you -- losing their warmth while they sneak under the hem of your sweater. The pads of his fingers are soft in comparison to the tips of his nails, grazing your stomach and sternum before reaching up to cup your breasts. He lets out a shallow breath, squeezing the delicate flesh softly in his palms -- so gentle despite his rough demeanor.

His thumbs graze your nipples in slow circles earning him a mewl from your dry throat.

"So easy," he giggles in a whisper. You nearly pout when his hands slide down and away from you; beginning the unhurried removal of your clothing. He moves glacially, eyes remaining on yours, wraiths of whispers in a lanuage you don't understand fluttering in the air around you -- in one ear and out the other. Part of you wants to scream and thrash while he slides off your spandex, rips the seams of your panties, destroys your socks.

His clawed hands shred your sweater, snap your bra at the straps until all your clothes are left in a heap on the dusty floorboards by a forgotten desk. He crawls over you like a predator, undressed himself now: some how bigger, more hulking than before. His shoulders are broad, muscles flexing while skin so white it's nearly blue stretches over it. Whatever is down here has completely infected him, you can see it in the color of the veins beneath his skin, the slight red in his pupils, the dark blue hues under his eyes.

His wings lift high around him in an arched half circle, tips appearing behind him like a hybrid of horns and halo at once.

"Could smell you from here," he leers, "since last night. Christ, fucking drooling over you like a kid."

You whimper again, body jolting in pain when his nails pierce your thighs when he parts them. Fresh ichor spilling from the wounds in deep sanguine and he doesn't seem to care about the mess he's making while it drips onto the sheets. His cavalier manuevering comes off as though he likes to play with his food before he eats it.

"And I don't know what it is, angel, how my senses find the right ones," he rasps while he leans forward to your blood soaked shoulder; serpent tongue slipping out to lave over it, "But you really called to me this year; think you might be the one."

"The o-one wh-what?" you sniffle. His tongue slides over the lacerations on your shoulder again, sucking slightly from the new wounds. He lets out a groan, using free hand to rest on the side of your rib cage for support.

He deatches from the well he drinks from, tip of his nose running over your decollatage and up your neck. In inhales over your jugular, pressing a wet kiss under your jaw before getting to your ear.

"The one I mate with, sweetheart," he breathes, "The one I breed."

Breed? You heart sinks like a stone into your belly, body tensing in a freeze while you think of what to do. How to get out of here.

"Wait," you gasp, arms coming up to push at his chest and push him away, "No, please, wait -- you can't."

You push and push but he's a stone pillar, he barely moves, his muscles barely push inward at your assault. He tuts, the click of his tongue between his teeth almost a chitter. He noses your cheek before looming over you, tips of your noses brushing. He catches your gaze again, the whispers start while the air blows in through the broken window. Obedire domino tuo, obedire domino tuo, obedire domino tuo. His lips aren't moving but you can hear his low voice in your ears, barely there, swirling around in your subconcious while the wind whispers with it. Another flash of red lightning illuminates him in a streak, the rumble of thunder vibrating your belly and chest. His hand floats up from your rib cage while you settle, cupping your cheek to slide down to your jaw and over your neck. The touch is nearly comforting, dipping you back into a haze like before.

"You were saying?" he asks.

"Hm?" your brows pinch, his voice muffled and far away.

"That's what I thought," he says smugly, head dipping back down to your neck where his lips drag over your delicate skin. His breath leaves a patch of wet heat that lingers when he moves down over your chest, fangs peeking out behind his full lips when he drags them over the swell of your left breast.

A gentle gasp escapes you, eyes fluttering closed when the tip of his tongue teases your pert nipple, blowing cool air against it once soaked with his spit. He flicks against it again, alternating sides, presses kisses over them in clear ownership. The more he tasted of you, the more it belonged to him.

With each touch and tease of your tits the more you gasp and whine beneath him, he chuckles from his belly, moving down to your sternum.

"And I died a virgin, can you believe it?" he asks with a cocky lift to one of his brows, "Now all I gotta do is smile and girls like you 'll just fall into bed with me."

There's cotton in your ears, all you can do is nod slowly while blood still leaks from your shoulder and thighs. All you can feel is his mouth and hands travel further and further down. The wind howls and the low chant in the back of your head changes tune but in the same cadence; over and over again: vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis.

He licks a stripe up the back of your thigh to catch a bead of blood before it reaches the mattress, savoring you. He feeds from the gouges he left behind for a moment before inching forward to the apex of your thighs. Eddie inhales your scent deeply, the earthly musk of you making his mouth water in a mix of metal and spit. His nose brushes against the untrimmed hair of your mound, ghosting himself over it drunk with attraction.

Your body heats up with mild embarrassment, flexing while your hips writhe slightly underhim. Almost as if he can hear your thoughts he kisses the crease of your thigh, "Nothing to be embarrassed about, baby. Girls don't let it grow like this anymore n' it's such a shame."

You want to speak up and explain it's just 'cause you haven't had the time but your tongue doesn't know how to move anymore. Too tired to speak, too caught up in how he feels, how he touches, how he takes what he wants. You relent again, body relaxing; pliant while he spreads you apart for him a desperate moan pulling from you when his tongue -- still soaked in your blood -- glides from the pool of slick at your opening all the way up to your clit.

You almost gag at the way your body betrays you, sending a spread of electricity over your nerves from your core to your finger tips. "More," you whisper, not even believing you're begging for him, "Please, more."

Eddie's smug in his response, smiling with his eyes while he looks up at you from between your legs, "And good manners? You spoil me, princess."

Your back arches in a soft curve when your hips push back into the mattress, pressing yourself into his waiting mouth. He groans again when your body drips for him, leaving a damp sheen on his cheeks and chin. It's not about your pleasure despite how much of it he's bringing you, but about your consumption. He's devouring you. Licking his plate clean from the outside in.

The moans he takes from you spur him on, getting you further and further away from the fight you put up before. Spilling over for him like a puddle while you writhe, a hand reaching out to rake through his hair. His own reaches up from aroud your thigh to hold you by the wrist tight to your side.

"Hands to yourself," he murmrs, soft lips wrapping around your swollen clit to suck expertly on the bud. You whimper, tugging at his hold but it only makes his grip more intense, pinning you there without much a fight. Not even enough to distract him from the task at hand.

When his tongue sinks back down into your soaking core you feel it, the heat pulsing through your belly while he lets the muscle dip and swirl in your wetness. Your thighs twitch and shake when his nose bumps your sensitive clit, his free hand coming up to gingerly rub circles over it in tandem.

"Oh my god," you whine, "Oh my god -- K-kas don' -- oh my god, ohmygod." He snickers, contining his movements, murmuring a quiet, "God's not here, baby."

Another roll over your hips sends you reeling, his tongue gliding in long strokes when finally the coil in your belly snaps. You fall apart beneath him, loud moans and high pitched squeals while he consumes you through it. Your body vibrates, thighs clamping down over his ears, blood from the slices in your flesh staining his hair and jaw.

He hums low when you settle, gasping for breath on your already dry and scratchy throat while you come down. 

Eddie rises slowly, shoulder blades and wings moving with him while he crawls up your body. Smooth and languid like a snake, his torso hovers above yours while he settles his hips between your thighs. You look up at him, his shape, the way his eyes have blown black, the newfound sharpness in his features. A creature, a monster in your wake — not the same person you saw at the cemetery. 

“Oh,” he coos when he sees your eyes glassy and rounded upon him, “So precious.” 

You're much weaker now, mind and body, the stings across your skin from the broken branches and his sharpened nails a pain you've become better accquainted with. You take another breath of calm, arms resting by your head with your palms up towards the ceiling. He takes the moment of surrender to hold them down against the bed. The pressure of his hips against yours keeps you pinned, but you barely fight -- maybe squirm, maybe whine. No thrashing, no screaming, the whispers echo through the wind again:

Vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis.

"So, so, precious," he whispers while he leans forward, kisses pressed to one cheek and then the other slow and controlled. He inhales again when he dips down to your neck, piercing fangs dragging over the vein there. You feel the push and then the pain, the unbearable blinding pain of his teeth ripping through you. Through your skin, through the muscle, the pulse of his mouth while he holds himself there.

You cry out, nearly a scream while he holds himself there -- just enough to infect you, just enough to get the poison in. The pain reaches a blinding peak, bile growing up your throat, eyes filling with a white hot surge of anguish and then -- Nothing. Euphoria. An unknown lightness you hadn't felt before.

He releases, still holding tight to your wrists above your head when he raises up over you again.

"Open," he instructs, and in your hazy gaze you obey. Your tongue flattens against your chin without command.

"Very good, sweetheart," he praises, collecting the blood left on his lips and in his cheeks to spit it directly into your waiting mouth.

"You can close now," he grins, "And swallow."

He grunts, hips sliding against you so that you can feel his length between your legs; the girth alone sends a chill to the part of you that is screaming inside your head. How is it supposed to fit? How is he supposed to get this inside you? "Don't worry," he laughs, "It'll fit."

When your vision snaps up at him he laughs again, "I can hear you in there, princess. I can always hear you."

He dips down again, tip of his nose sliding over your cheek to your ear, "So be very careful what you think about."

He doesn't need his hands to guide the head of himself into your already needy center. It's a stretch, delicious but nearing painful. It's not something you've ever even dreamed of taking before; thick, large, inhuman.

Your legs lift on their own accord while he pushes in further, getting half way while you let out a choked sob.

"Aw, shh, shh, shh," he mocks, easing in more, "C'mon you can take it."

"You can --" his hips snap in hard for the rest of him, letting out a ragged grunt when the rest of him disappears inside you, "--take it."

You mouth hangs open in a desperate oval, face crumpling when you become so full of him -- all encompassing. A part of you now, buried deep within. He moves, dangerously slow and controlled; methodic in how he thrusts himself deeper and deeper inside. "Mmm, that's it," he growls, chest to chest with him while his hip grind at a deliberate pace. You feel his hot breath fan out over your lips, forehead pressed against yours. He's not hot, he's not cold, just skin against yours while it flashes with heat. You go from shaking to sweating with minutes in between.

When your hips roll to meet his thrusts you moan, the tip hitting you so deep in your core that stars burst behind your eyes. "There we go," he grins mischeviously, "S'at feel good, pet?"

"Ooh, yes," you hiss through gritted teeth, actively trying to bounce yourself againsth him now that your body has started accommodating his sheer size. He raises himself up on his hands like a cobra, snake like peering down at you while he meets the roll of your hips with an unforgiving thrust.

"Good," he oozes the word out like smoke, deliciosly deep seated in his belly when he thrusts hard again. He mumbles a quiet musing to himself that you can't hear -- too gone in the lightness in your body, in the way nothing hurts, in the way you're so full.

Can finally fuck you how I wanna.

He gets up, sitting back on his haunches while still inside you, pushing your legs up so your knees end up by your ears. With this leverage he sinks in deep. You don't even know how far in he is, just that he's in and he's there, he's everywehre, he's outside and in.

Eddie locks eyes with you, that same smirk from the cemetary that made your stomach flip dancing across his devilish features, "Tell me you like it."

Your mouth moves before your brain can hesitate, "I like it." "Tell me you need it," he demands, tone measured and sure.

"I need it," you say back, your voice coming out broken and weak, "Please, I need it."

He pulls back and punches forward, hard enough that you gasp at the impact. He grips you hard by the backs of your legs, thrusts starting slow and building at an unrelenting pace. His eyes are wild; boring down at you through from under furrowed and determined brows. If you had any mind left, you'd think that he hates you by the way he stares.

"Fuck," he snarls, leaning forward over you, one hand pressing down on the mattress next to your head, "Shit -- fuck, that's it. That's fuckin' -- shit, you're fuckin' mine." "Say you need me."

"I need you," you choke back without thinking, barely able to breathe at his speed. The coil tightens deep inside of you again, tears pouring down your cheeks in waves -- not even crying, just recieving. Absorbing him. Your body rocks like a boat on unsteady waves pinned beneath him, the only sounds are the whispers in your subconcious, his growls and sputters like an animal above you. The lewd slaps of skin against skin, the squelches of him pushing you to your limits.

He steadies himself over you, nose to nose again while he fucks you. Really fucks you. Impressed with himself, he lets out a breathy chuckle when you throw your head back -- eyes shutting tight with a pornographic scream.

"Oh GOD!" you cry out, "Oh my god."

His fingers and claws catch your chin with a firm shake, eyes snapping open to meet the knowing glare of his ruddy brown ones.

"Your god," he starts, panting into your mouth, "is right here in front of you."

You swallow, mouth falling agape again when you feel the bite of his nails on the fat of your cheeks. "Right here," you repeat, dazed and overwhelmed, "N'..n'fronname."

"Right here in front of you," he nods, leaning down to brush his nose against yours while his thrusts slow to a steady pace. It's then that his lips meet yours, the kiss searing with desire and claim when his tongue slides into your mouth. You can taste the metallic twang of your blood in his mouth, sighing into it while he guides the kiss. Breaking away and coming back in; rushed and heated each time while he feels himself get closer to his peak.

His forehead presses against yours, one hand finally releasing your wrist to hold your head in place over your hair. You keep eye contact with him, not even sure if you're blinking, if you even need to blink. You rasp breaths, mouth and throat dry and aching while you breathe into him. You're close, teetering on the edge while he pushes you up with his hips to rest your lower body on his knees and thighs.

"Come undone," he murmurs, "Let go for me."

The command ripples through you, bursting through your belly with a warm heat. You welcome it, eyes rolling, cries pouring from you in words you don't think you understand. He encourages you, offering you rough sweet nothings while you pray to him, beg for him, ache for him.

That's enough to send him over; seeing you completely at his mercy now. Obedient, trained, devoured.

He snares and snarls, growling while he comes deep inside of you. The hand on your head wraps painfully in your hair like it did before you started -- uncaring, brutal. The heat of his seed pools deep within you like the heart of your orgasm. Glazed over you groan, hips rolling up in one final cant to receive him fully. Your vision vingettes while he unsheathes from you; fluids leaking onto the sheets. You're empty and the room spins with a new blackness, you're fading. Fainting? Dying?

The fuzziness continues to darken arouns you, around him, until he's all that's left in the tunnel of your vision. "That's a good girl," he soothes smugly, "Very well done."

Your gaze and mind fade fully to a staticky black.

You wake, you’re not sure how much later. 

Still on the bed and still undressed but your arms feel tight – a tug reveals your current state. Bound to a post on the headboard by a triple handcuff knot, dense hemp rope keeping your arms above your head. 

You whine and struggle, coming to your senses now – no one knows where you are, you barely know where you are. An underworld – hell. Somewhere. 

“Don’t look so terrified, sweetheart,” his smooth honey voice is heard before he appears in the candle light again, “I’m right here.” 

“Wh-why am I –” you swallow thickly, coughing and sputtering with how dry your mouth and throat are now, “Why am I tied up?” 

He looks at you with faux concern, brows raising, “Oh honey, are you okay?” 

He reaches out, pushing your hair away from your face, “Don’t be stressed. Y’know something – I just realized, I never offered you anything to drink.” 

“My uncle always told me you should take a girl out to dinner before makin’ the van rock and look at me,” he gestures at his chest, tutting at himself, “Where are my manners, huh?” 

Your lip wobbles while he looms over you, “Are you thirsty?” 

You nod, he grins – cheshire like, fangs glinting in the light, “I thought you would be.” He gets up, lazy and confident in his walk across the room. His body looks like marble, chiseled with the running and hunting you realize he’s been doing for over a decade. Stronger than ever; ethereal in his post orgasm glow. 

He pulls his hair back while he walks, holding it up away from his neck while your eyes travel down his back where his wings have tucked in under the skin. You gag when you see them move above his blades, rippling beneath the tattoos he has there. He’s dressed in only shorts; silk – likely stolen to really own the whole vampire thing he has going on. 

You take in a shaky breath when he gets what he needs, dropping his hair back to his shoulders when he makes his way back to you. 

He holds the dagger coolly in his hand before gliding the tip down the center of his wrist. Blood blooms from the wound; he doesn’t even flinch. 

“Open, princess,” he murmurs. Your lips clamp shut, shaking your head no while fear takes over – rot in your chest. He catches your chin again, forcing you to look at him like before. 

“Open,” he repeats, slower. His voice reverberates like a gong between your ears. 

Your mouth opens on its own accord and the smell of his blood becomes the most alluring scent you’ve had pass your nose in years. You latch on to the laceration, swallowing and sucking deeply on the wound while his blood and body quench and feed you better than any meal you think you’ve ever had. You feel revived as you devour him, eyes fluttering closed while the fill feels never enough. 

“That’s it, keep goin’,” he encourages under his breath, “Won’t have to keep asking you to do things twice once this is all over with.” 

You break away to breathe, gasping like you’re coming up for air, drowning in him. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean you’ll be just like me, sweetheart,” he says, chuckling when you eagerly lean forward to drink him again, “After a night of some deeply insurmountable pain; and then nothing. Just mine. Undead and mine.” 

“But y–you said you were – I’m –” your brows knit in confusion, “You didn’t h-have to d-do this; whatever you um – whatever you bred me with will die if you do this.” 

“Oh, no, no,” he laughs evilly, “I didn’t breed you quite yet.” 

He pulls his arm away, wiping the blood from your chin with his thumb roughly. 

“Consider what we did a, uh…hmm,” he takes a second to think about it with a hum, shrugging cheekily, “A soul bonding experience.” 

“You’re disgusting,” you spit. 

“I’m delicious,” he corrects, smearing his blood from your chin to your cheek, “If you do say so yourself.” 

He gets up again, pulling the covers out from under you to tuck you in. The chill getting to you in a way it never gets to him; you might as well be warm while you turn into actualized death. 

“I can hear you, remember?” he asks, tapping your head, “You won’t be totally alone with me. There’s…shit there are plenty just like us.” 

“Like Steve,” you pipe up groggily. 

“More than just goodie two-shoes Harrington,” he groans, “God, do you ever shut up about him?”

You sniffle in response.

“I mean this place, this – dimension,” he says, “It’s more than just Hawkins, and there are so many more like us; even up there.” 

He points upwards with a sharp nailed finger, “All around.” 

“And now that you’ll be just like me,” he smiles, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you in the crook of you waist, “There’ll be all the time in the world to breed you.” 

Your vision blurs, either from tears or from another fade, you aren’t sure. You can feel a slow burn through your veins, a rush of blood. You whimper. 

“So it begins,” he smirks, running the tip of his finger over your nose bridge. 

“Oh!” he says, eyes bulging, “Before I forget, and before I lose you – because you’ll be such a pretty blank slate when you come to – I felt like I should be honest.” 

He gestures dramatically, a maniacal grin pushing his cheeks up to his eyes while they spark, “Again with my manners, it was so rude of me to introduce myself to Pete’s grave at the cemetery. We’ve met before! Can’t believe I had almost forgotten.” 

Ice in your body fights the burning in your veins, you gag, bile coming up to singe your throat. 

“And y’know, I didn’t mean to drop him in the quarry when I was done with him,” he says with a scrunch of his nose, like he accidentally wrote the wrong tip on a restaurant check, “Really, my mistake, but Christ did he hit every piece of limestone on the way down.” 

He lets out a hearty laugh while he remembers it, your brother's body bouncing off rocks and metal before slipping under the water. You swallow your sick only or it to rise back up with a vengeance, staining your skin red while it seeps out of the corner of your mouth. You tug on the ropes in retaliation, hot angry tears stinging your eyes. 

“All that fallin’ did a number on him – which is good because it really took the heat of anyone knowing it was me. I just wasn't as clean about it back then. Much better now though,” he nods, finishing with a superior and charming look like he just told a bedtime story. 

He leans forward close to your face while your vision pulses in fuzzy black, browning out while he looks down at you. 

“And I’ll tell you something, babe…” 

Fading, fading, fading.

“He tasted divine.”

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi